This London Love (2 page)

Mr Davis was a terrible flirt who came into the florist every Saturday, rain or shine, to pick up flowers for his wife. Every week, he told Meg she looked like someone new. Last week it had been Cameron Diaz. The week before, Marilyn Monroe. Meg was always amazed he knew who all these actresses were as they spanned many different eras, but Mr Davis was something of a film buff. Plus, being newly retired, he had a lot of time on his hands.

As far as Meg could see, the only similarity she had with any of these people was she was female and had blonde hair — but she didn’t like to point this out to Mr Davis. Meg knew his first name was Clive, but neither she nor her mum had ever called him that. Always the formality of Mr Davis.

Just in the nick of time, her mum, Olivia, appeared with his flowers.

“Here you go, Mr Davis,” she said, handing him a fat bouquet dressed with silver ribbons. “Seasonally bright and gorgeous. Sheila’s going to love them.”

“Perfect — they look beautiful, just like the two of you.”

Meg could never quite work out who Mr Davis flirted with more — her or her mum. She hoped it was her mum but she could never be sure.

Olivia waved his comment away, smiling. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He bid them both farewell and left the shop, the bell over the door ringing as he did so.

“I swear he gets more flirtatious by the week,” Meg said.

“He’s a solid, regular customer, so he can flirt all he wants,” Olivia replied. She disappeared into the back of the shop and came back with a cup of coffee for both of them: hers white, one sugar, Meg’s pitch black. Meg liked her coffee like she liked her martinis - straight up and minus the olives.

“I might shoot off after this.” Meg blew on her coffee and took a sip.

“Sure — you doing anything special? Moving perhaps? Getting rid of that good-for-nothing ex of yours?”

“Mum…” Meg shot her mum a warning glance, but Olivia chose to ignore it.

“Wasn’t that your birthday resolution in June? Turn 32, sell the house and move on? Only, now it appears to be September and you
still
haven’t even got the house on the market. And don’t get me started on you going back on the dating scene and meeting someone new.”

Olivia held Meg’s gaze, but Meg couldn’t take it and looked away.

Meg knew the drill, she’d heard it many times before.

“And don’t give me that look. After the year I’ve had — surely that should be a warning to you. Live life now. Live it to the max. Get rid of the dead wood.”

Meg smiled. “Mum,
I know.
I know I have to change things, but you’re beginning to sound like a never-ending stream of those terrible positive-thinking slogans people frame and put on their walls.”

They both laughed at that.

“Actually, I’ve got to catch up on the accounts, so I thought as you said Anya was available this afternoon, I’d do that at home.” Meg paused. “She is still coming?” Anya was their part-time help in the florist.

Her mum nodded. “As far as I’m aware.”

“Good.”

Olivia took a sip of her coffee and stared at Meg once more. “But you will think about what I said?”

Meg nodded, looking down into her coffee as if it might hold the answers. “I think of nothing else every minute of every day, believe me.”

“Good.” Olivia paused, before putting an arm around Meg’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “I’m your mum, it’s my job to worry. And I want my only daughter to be happy. Is that such a crime?”

3

It had been a month since the awards, and this week had been a time for the Female Health & Fitness magazine team to put their autumn and end-of-year-plan into action. There was going to be a whole slew of new features and impressive cover gifts in the run-up to Christmas, all leading to a full-scale redesign of the magazine in the New Year.

The day had been a non-stop whirlwind of meetings for Dawn and Kate as they’d explained their plans to all their connected departments, telling them how they expected the various teams to run with them. Kate was pretty sure they were all on-board so far — now they just had to deliver on the editorial and the rest would fall into place.

Kate had arrived home to her first floor converted flat in central London’s Old Street around an hour earlier. The balmy September air was seeping in through the windows along with traffic fumes, car horns and the low hum of commuter chatter.

Kate’s commute was a short one — Southwark to Old Street taking just 15 minutes tonight on her trusty bike, Beryl — and for once, she hadn’t been nearly mown down by a lorry or an impatient driver. Her bike was now safely stowed in the hallway downstairs as she relaxed into her distressed leather sofa, admiring her newly installed light fitting crafted from reclaimed metalwork and jam jars. Fresh-cut tulips sat in a blue glass vase on the coffee table, while on the TV, Kate was watching an American cookery show where a man was paid to visit a slick succession of diners and eat as much meat as possible. Every time she watched it, Kate thought it was a job she could well handle.

Her phone ringing broke the silence. Kate picked it up and stared at the glowing screen — it was her mum. Kate sighed. Her batteries were drained after her busy day and while she loved her mum, the only reason she’d be calling was if she wanted something. Mums normally did.

Her flatmate and sister-in-law Jess poked her head into the lounge and gave Kate a quizzical look. Jess had been for a hair cut today and it looked particularly lesbionic — short, jaunty, brown. Kate wouldn’t tell Jess, but her cut was straying worryingly close to looking identikit to her girlfriend, Lucy. She’d have a word with Jess about her and Lucy merging into dyke-alikes later.

“Your phone’s ringing,” Jess said.

“I know. It’s my mum.” The phone’s cry was still piercing the lounge air.

Jess raised an eyebrow.

Kate sighed. She’d have to answer it now. She picked up her Samsung and swiped her finger across the screen.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Hi, love,” her mum replied.

Kate’s breathing stilled. “What’s wrong?” She remembered the same tone from when her mum had called nearly five years ago, to tell her Dad had died in a car crash. Sometimes, that day five years ago seemed like it happened to someone else entirely. But sometimes, like now, it seemed like yesterday. Kate sat forward and dropped her head between her knees. If her mum had some terminal illness, she might vomit onto her grey carpet.

“It’s Uncle Mike,” her mum said. “He’s… He’s dead.”

Uncle Mike. Kate knew it was wrong, but relief flooded her body. Her mum and sister were fine. But Uncle Mike was not. Kate tried to remember what Uncle Mike looked like, but the image was hazy. His smell wasn’t, though — tobacco and motor oil. Uncle Mike liked smoking and cars. Well, he used to, anyway.

“God, that’s awful. How?”

“Heart attack. At work today.” Her mum let out a small sob. “It’s so awful. Can you come over?”

Kate was already on her feet. “Course. Let me get changed and I’ll jump on my bike.”

Her mum sucked in a breath. “Can’t you get the tube? You know I don’t like you riding your bike in the dark.”

Kate smiled. “It’s fine, Mum — I have lights and everything.”

“Just for me, not tonight.”

Kate relented. “Okay. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“We’ll get something from that nice Indian you like. I’ll pick up some wine and we’ll toast Uncle Mike. Should be there by 8pm.” Kate paused. “Have you told Vicky yet?”

“She’s going to answerphone.”

A likely story. “I’ll call her on the way. See you in a bit — go make a cup of tea.”

“Okay, love. See you soon.”

Kate hung up and marched down the hallway, pausing in the kitchen doorway. She pulled at the bottom of her black denim shirt and leaned her head against the white door frame.

Jess was making ribs for dinner and the flat was filled with the smells of roasted meat and sharp, smoky spices. She was wearing a blue apron with white pinstripes — a classic, cheffy look. Before Jess had begun working in a café over a year ago, she’d been allergic to cooking. Now, you couldn’t get her out of the kitchen. Not that Kate was complaining.

“Everything okay?” Jess slotted an earthenware dish into the hot oven and shut the door, before casting a wary glance towards Kate.

Kate shook her head. “I’m going to have to bail on dinner — my uncle just died, so I’m going over to Mum’s.”

Jess covered her mouth. “Shit — how’s Maureen?”

Kate shrugged. “A bit shaken.”

Jess cocked her head. “Hang on, you’ve got an uncle? I met your Aunty Viv at the wedding, but I never knew there was an uncle.”

Jess’s brother Jack had married Kate’s sister Vicky nearly six years ago, so Jess had met most of Kate’s extended family at big occasions and summer barbecues.

Kate smiled. “That’s because he wasn’t at the wedding. Or at the christenings of our two gorgeous nephews. Let’s just say Mike wasn’t really a family man. For all I know, he could be gay or have a few love children scattered around the country. But he was still my mum’s big brother.”

Jess leaned against the counter-top, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “So duty calls,” she said. “Shame, as these ribs are looking delicious.”

“They don’t smell too bad either.” Kate pushed herself off the kitchen door frame. “Maybe you should call Lucy and tell her you’ve cooked her a special treat.”

Jess shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “My gorgeous girlfriend is out on the tiles tonight, so this is just for me. I’ll save you some for tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date.” Kate kissed Jess’s cheek before heading to her bedroom to grab her jacket.

“Give Maureen a hug from me!” Jess shouted after her.

***

Two hours later, Kate was sitting on the sofa at her mum’s house in Finchley, chicken bhuna eaten, glass of Malbec in hand.

“It’s weird to think you can just drop dead at any minute, isn’t it?”

“I’m hoping you won’t,” Maureen replied. Her mum was normally a ball of energy, but she was understandably subdued tonight.

Kate smiled and ran her hand through her short, platinum-blonde hair. “You know what I mean. One minute you’re here, the next minute you’re not.”

Her mum nodded. “I think we learned that the hard way five years ago, didn’t we?” She paused. “I wish I’d seen your uncle more, but you know what he was like.” Maureen twisted her wedding ring as she always did at times of stress. “Anyway, will you be able to help with some of the arrangements? Viv’s coming tomorrow to sort the funeral, but could you sort the flowers? There’s a place down the road that’s reasonable.”

“Sure — just give me the details.”

“Thanks, love.”

The doorbell interrupted their conversation and Kate got up. She opened the front door to her sister Vicky, car keys dangling off her right index finger, her face drawn with tiredness. She stepped into the house and gave Kate a hug.

“How is she?” Vicky shrugged off her blazer and threw it down on the bottom of the stairs.

“She’s okay — I’ve calmed her down with wine.”

“Good plan.”

They walked back through to the lounge, before Kate disappeared to the kitchen to make Vicky a cup of tea. When they were all resettled, the memories of being in exactly the same position five years previously came flooding back.

“It’s strange how it never leaves you, never goes away,” Maureen said. Despite the food and wine, she was still pale and drawn. “You’re doing okay, but then something like this happens and it knocks you back.”

Vicky leaned over and hugged their mum, while Kate took a sip of her wine.

“But you haven’t gone back, Mum,” Kate said. “You’ve got on with your life, and you’re doing really well. And we’ll deal with this together, as a family, just like before. Right?” Kate directed the last bit at Vicky, who nodded.

“Absolutely. All of us together — the intrepid threesome. Just let me know what I can do and I’ll do it.” Vicky nodded her head again with defiance.

Maureen took each of her daughter’s hands in hers and squeezed tight. “I don’t know what I’d do without my lovely girls, I really don’t.” She shook her head and her lip trembled.

Kate and Vicky squeezed right back.

4

The next day Kate was late into work, but she knew it wouldn’t be a big deal. The magazine was in the first week of its four-week schedule, which meant her day would be light on work, heavy on personal chores — which now included funeral flower arrangements. Kate had no idea what that might involve, but she wasn’t looking forward to it — visions of Six Feet Under floated through her mind.

She sat down at her desk near a window overlooking the Thames, taking in the open-plan floor which housed six magazines in total. Laughter floated through the rows of desks and occasional pot plant, and someone was playing old-school Eurythmics. The mood was light this morning, with the September sunshine ensuring everyone was embracing the last dregs of summer.